


fight forever

by or-ng-c-ss-dy (o_r_ng_c_ss_dy)



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: First Time Bottoming, Hate Sex, M/M, Post-Dynamite, Rivalry, developing feelings, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_r_ng_c_ss_dy/pseuds/or-ng-c-ss-dy
Summary: maybe they should fight forever.or maybe that wasn't how it was going to go.
Relationships: Santana/Trent Baretta
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	fight forever

**Author's Note:**

> this ship sneaks up on me sometimes. i wrote this right after dynamite tonight and decided to post it because???
> 
> i based this entirely off of a tweet from santana that trent liked, "that felt good.", and then didn't mention the tweet. oh well...
> 
> enjoy!

The thing about fighting for a living was that it made a man very, incredibly, _obviously_ busy. So it wasn’t that Santana had stopped hating Trent, it was just that he was busy, okay? With the inner workings of the Inner Circle, trying to keep them all from falling apart, one of the only true neutral people about MJF joining, he was busy.

But, well. Standing across the ring from Trent again, that made everything snap back to how it had been, before the parking lot, before Ortiz and him had to lick their wounds. Because those pricks had gotten the best of them, yeah, that little blond Cassidy bitch coming to his Chuck’s aid, saving his boyfriend from him and hand delivering him to get Awful Waffle’d, but that didn’t mean that what he felt for Trent had magically gone away.

He’d hate him for life. He’d hate Chuckie T and Orange Cassidy for life too but...well, there were some complications to all of it.

He hated those two as well of course but he didn’t have either one of them sliding inside of him. Breathing hard, Santana could only cling to Trent’s shoulders because they didn’t really do it like this. It never usually got this far, save for that one time where he had hitched Trent’s leg up and pushed into him, it had usually been just dry humping or some blowjobs exchanged, something with a little less planning involved.

But it was clear that Trent had been planning, pulling a bottle of lube out of his tights like he was fucking Nakazawa or something like that. Maybe he had picked something up from his fight with him, not that Santana paid attention to what he did in the ring. Not like he watched from the back, peaking out into the tunnel to see what Trent did, that would be ridiculous.

Regardless, Trent was there, spreading his legs wide. He hasn’t done this before, not that he’d let him know that, but Trent seemed pretty familiar with the action of opening him up. His fingers had been expert, like he did it often enough, and then he was sliding in and in and _in_...

 _Fuck_. He was really in there. Santana felt so spread open and...obscene, it was a lot to handle. Trent smoothed a kiss over his forehead, a bizarrely gentle gesture from a bizarre guy.

“You’ve got this.” He murmured, and Santana wanted to tell him to fuck directly off, but the only thing that escaped his lips was a soft hiss.

He hated Trent. He hated Trent. He hated Trent, hated him so fucking much that he didn’t think it was ever going to go away. His damn, punchable, handsome face.

Santana laid back onto the bed, Trent had taken him back to his room, fuck, face screwed up as he fought through the strain, fought through the urge to do something dumb like punch Trent or pull him down and kiss him. Instead, he slammed his eyes shut to avoid the way Trent was looking down at him. Like he really saw him or something like that, shit, Ortiz would probably kill him if he knew he was thinking shit like that.

“Good,” Trent murmured, hand low on his hip, fingers splayed out, “lemme know if it’s too much.”

 _”You’re supposed to hate me.”_ Santana didn’t say.

Instead, he just nodded, a short jerk of his head. Fuck.

And then Trent started to move, a short roll of his hips, thumbs rubbing over his hip bones. A constant pressure, like the press of his dick in his ass, Jesus Christ...Trent really was inside of him.

It was still incredibly hard to believe but, yeah, it was happening. And Santana nodded, cracking his eyes open to stare up at Trent, he sorta wished that he was laying on his stomach instead so he wouldn’t have to watch as Trent gave him a weird little smile. Like he was trying to reassure him, like he didn’t hate him like how Santana wanted him to, like he knew that Santana didn’t…

Fuck.

He hated Trent.

He…

He could only clench around him, fingers digging holes into the sheets under his back, arching when Trent angled his hips up easy, hitting some spot inside of him that had him...yeah. Arching and moaning, he was starting to understand why people did this. Because it felt good and Trent seemed to really know what he was doing with all of this. 

Santana was starting to think that he couldn’t ignore Trent any longer, not when he tipped his head down, long hair tickling his cheeks as it hung like curtains around them. His eyes were warm and brown, and his smile was...reassuring. Cute and reassuring. What the fuck?

He wanted to twist his hands up in his hair and pull, pull until Trent cried out from pain. Until Trent pulled his dick out of him and fought him. Instead, he tangled his fingers into that long hair and hauled him down for a kiss that said a lot more than it should’ve. 

When did everything get so messed up, tangled together, when did he start wanting to fight Trent forever as an excuse to touch him for forever? To put his hands on him and never let go.

The Inner Circle had won the match but, staring up into Trent’s eyes as they broke the kiss, he couldn’t help but feel like he had lost.

It didn’t take much longer, especially when Trent shifted back, sliding his hand down from his hip to curl around his hard, leaking cock. He stroked him with short, even strokes, Santana hadn’t felt anything like it, Trent jerking him off while hitting that spot inside of him. It had him arching, had him cumming with a loud curse, hand curling around Trent’s wrist hard enough that he hoped he left bruises.

Trent pulled out after that, catching his own wrist to bring his hand around his own cock, using his limp hand to jerk himself off, joining the mess on his stomach with a messy moan of his name.

“Santana, fuck,” Trent moaned out, brown eyes slipping shut, “ _fuck_.”

And then there was nothing but the harsh sound of their breathing, filling Trent’s hotel room. Fuck, he was a mess. But Trent was reaching over with a tissue, wiping him up, taking care of him, fuck.

Everything was a mess if he was being honest. The Inner Circle, Trent’s hair from where Santana had been grabbing it. A total disaster. He wanted to see him again, fuck.

Trent was collapsing at his side, a sweaty hand smearing over where they had both cum, a little too possessive for Santana to ignore.

 _”We shouldn’t do this anymore.”_ He didn’t say.

And then Trent was rolling over, pressing a messy, open mouthed kiss to his throat, throwing an arm over his shoulder. Lazy, easy, a satiated smile crossing his lips.

“We should do this again.” Trent said.

Santana could only nod, a little dazed and...and regretfully, unfortunately wanting.

And, if Trent’s wider smile put something in the pit of his stomach, something close to heat, well...it probably meant something else, okay?

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, i hope you liked it! you can find me on tumblr, @ [ or-ng-c-ss-dy ](https://or-ng-c-ss-dy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
